


This Night Will Be Bad

by Midwintersign



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 05:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6270721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midwintersign/pseuds/Midwintersign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which, Will Stanton learns that a mortal man can hide his darkness from him far better than any Lords of the Dark could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Night Will Be Bad

The field was bright, and he could see the mountains spread out before him like a map to the heavens. As a breeze blew that smelled of rain, he knew he was waiting for someone, and as everything seemed to make him feel so elated and powerful just by looking at it, he ran up the hill in front of him to get a better look around the valley. A dog’s bark echoed, and Will Stanton turned his head to see a familiar dog come up the hill behind him. Following slowly and at some distance was a boy, who ran his hand through stark white hair that gleamed in the sunlight. Will smiled.  
  
But, suddenly, he was looking at the ceiling of his room, illuminated by the moonlight glowing from the skylight, with a sudden drop in his stomach. Having been awoken by the closing of his bedroom door, Will slowly sat up, unsure of who he expected to see in his doorway.  
  
The Stanton house, for that one time during the day that it possibly could be, was still and quiet; Will wasn’t accustomed to nighttime visits to his attic, and gave the brother he met eyes with a quizzical look.  
  
“Max?” Will squinted in the dim light, “What time is it?”  
  
A slight shuffling of feet before the older Stanton came further into the room, “Late. Pretty late. Were you sleeping?”  
  
“Yes. Haven’t you slept yet?”  
  
His older brother looked at him, sadly, “No, well, you know. I talked with Robin and Gwen a bit. They’ve gone to bed, of course.” He paused, pushing his hair off of his forehead as Will normally did as well.  
  
Will smiled, “Did you need something?”  
  
The young man didn’t respond immediately, but came further into the room. The way he looked at him made Will begin to feel very self-conscious and small, which his brother must have noticed enough to relent and smile, “I just. . . I felt like I needed to talk to you.” The smile was short lived, however, and he slowly crossed the room the rest of the way, reaching Will’s bed.  
  
Max’s dark fringe of bangs were covering his eyes as he sat on the edge of Will’s bed. Will drew his knees up to make room at the foot of his bed for him, allowing his coverlet to fall from over his legs. His older brother took the room allowed and muttered something akin to ‘thank you’.  
  
Eyebrows knitted with worry, Will tilted his head to try to meet Max’s eyes. A year ago, Will may not have known how to react to this kind of thing. And it was true, Will was just barely twelve years old, but the near infinite knowledge that he now possessed allowed certain social graces to develop; looking at the biggest picture possible allowed him to slowly decipher things that did not always appear the way they ought to, especially when it came to human emotion.  
  
Max had always been one of the more emotional brothers of the Stanton brood—fitting of an art student, his mother had said. But these careful moments were most often had, for Will, with Paul or James. Attempting to decipher Max was new territory. He most often spoke with the children closer in age, or with their mother.  
  
“Did something happen with school—” Will began to ask, slowly.  
  
“No, nothing like that,” came Max’s quick, dismissive answer, though Will had succeeded in getting his attention enough to make eye contact. Max’s dark eyes seemed hollow, and he looked worried.  
  
That quickly they were back to an uncomfortable silence that seemed suffocating. Will offered a smile, then, “Whatever it is. . . can it wait until morning?”  
  
Max sighed, his shoulders tensing visibly in the low light, “Well, it’s waited quite a while already.” When Will didn’t immediately turn him away after that, he seemed to relax some, “Last winter was a rough one, wasn’t it?”  
  
“Rough?” asked Will, almost cheerfully.  
  
Max frowned, “It was just a rough time. With the storm and the river rising. It seemed like there were so many moments we didn’t know where you were, actually. Scary, that.”  
  
That was when Will frowned. He had sworn he’d been more careful than that, but he’d been so new then. He’d made mistakes, it seemed.  
  
“I’m sorry if I worried you, Max.”  
  
With a slight laugh, Max waved his hand, “Aw, no. You’re just being a boy. We do things like that: run off and do our own thing once in a while. It isn’t the end of the world.”  
  
Will smiled weakly at that turn of phrase. In his worries of failure for his and his allies’ quest, that was exactly what he sometimes felt he was walking into, “Funny you should say that.”  
  
“I understood, at the very least.” There was a pause, but before Will had thought of an appropriate response, Max continued.  
  
“You’re growing up, aren’t you?” he said, lamely.  
  
Will frowned, “Yes, but. . . it hasn’t really changed anything,” he lied, innocently. Whether it had on a level that Max could and would never know, was something else entirely. It had no bearing on how Will would interact with him, of course. Or, at least, Will hoped it didn’t.  
  
His older brother was laughing at him a little, and turning to face him more easily, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. In response, Will found himself smiling.  
  
“You know, sometimes I forget that?” Max said, not quite fondly, “teenager next year, even.”  
  
“Ha, it’s a little soon to be thinking of next year,” Will chided, “I’ve only just made it through this one.”  
  
Max shook his head once before his hand reached up to run through his dark hair, pushing it up and off his forehead. “Still a scrawny little thing.”  
  
The younger Stanton feigned indignation, “Have a heart, Max, I was sick.”  
  
“I know, I heard.”  
  
Silence, again, as Will didn’t know what direction to take the conversation.  
  
He finally moved forward, down the bed a little to sit closer to his older brother, with a bright, unassuming smile over his features as he began to feel more awake, “Well, if you want to talk. . . I don’t know if I can help, but I’m here. You know.”  
  
“Course you are. Reliable Will.” Max said reaching out to tussle Will’s hair, but that hand didn’t stay on his head long as it found its home on Will’s shoulder.  
  
Suddenly, Will was pulled into a fierce hug, and it took a few moments for him to return it, Max’s face pressed against Will’s shoulder with one around his shoulders and the other more around the middle of his back.  
  
They sat like that in silence, Will feeling Max’s shallow breathing against his collarbone, and Max’s hands grasping, releasing and grasping again at the fabric of Will’s pajamas as if he were trying to keep from falling. Will felt altogether very protective of his brother then, feeling as though he was the first line of defense for his family and that he had failed somehow.  
  
Was he responsible for everyone? To an extent, in his own mind, if not in reality. His very presence set them up for dangers that they didn’t deserve to have to face.  
  
After a few moments, Will gently began to try to pull back to speak to his brother once more, but found he couldn’t move. So, he relented, and allowed his brother to hold him close for several more moments, before trying again.  
  
“What are you doing, Max?” he asked finally. He felt Max’s grip loosen, then.  
  
Will swallowed hard as he leaned back, disentangling himself from his brother’s arms as much as he was permitted; in the dim light of the room and with what little light from the skylight he had being behind Max’s head, Will couldn’t see his expression clearly, even though he was able to pull back and away.  
  
“You don’t know.” Max said, not allowing the distance to last, “So, I could still walk away.”  
  
Will’s stomach dropped, unsure of what his brother would be walking away from, “What do—”  
  
He’d barely had two words out of his mouth before his brother took hold of his upper arms, and Will’s cloudy blue eyes met Max’s darker ones in the dim light fully. His brother’s face was still unreadable, to him. Concerned was no longer a strong enough word for how Will felt.  
  
Suddenly, their position shifted, and Max was partially over him, hands on Will’s shoulders. When Will had almost slipped from his grasp, he had him by the shirt, pressing it into the bed and not allowing him to squirm out from under him.  
  
Will furrowed his eyebrows up at him, “I asked you what’re you doing?” his voice was more firm, but he wasn’t sure how firm he needed to be in a situation like this.  
  
“You won’t. . . I mean, this may be my last chance. Just don’t fight me.” Max said softly, but he was unmoving.  
  
“Max, you are heavy, get off.” Will tried to push at him almost playfully, but when he got no reaction, his hands raised up to grasp at Max’s arms, “Max. . .”  
  
“It won’t be long. Just this once.” Max seemed to be muttering more to himself then Will, and Will was disturbed to realize he was growing afraid of his brother.  
  
The gravity of the situation was growing more obvious.  
  
“Stop it, Max!” Will finally exclaimed out loud, hoping that the fear that someone might hear it would deter him, but his face twisted in fury at Will’s reaction. He began to try to maneuver Will’s arms to pin him down more effectively, his strength against Will’s own.  
  
“Stop fighting me,” Max warned, breathlessly. Will was well aware of how big of a man Max had grown to be; he’d stood taller than their father for years now. Will had recovered his strength somewhat from his time sick this past autumn, but, even at his peak, there was nothing he could physically do against his brother.  
  
With that, Will finally came to accept this couldn’t be handled this way. He took a sharp inhale of breath and Will was focusing on some or any strategy to get through this without hurting Max. But when Max had caught both of Will’s arms up with one of his great hands, Will felt the cold fingers against his hip of his brother’s free hand taking hold of the waistband of his pajamas. His mind swirled in panic.  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you, Will, I just—”  
  
Calling upon a great strength, that Will would sometime later recall where and what he’d used and resolve to never use against a mortal man again, he brought his hands effortlessly up to Max’s shoulders as he broke the grip his brother had on his arms, and with a bare foot and both hands heaved Max’s large form off of the bed and away from him as far as he could, restraint a sloppy afterthought.  
  
Max gave an indignant noise as he hit the floor, knocking the wind out of him quite some ways from the bed, and that was when Will had to take a moment to breathe. It took little focus before he knew the house was still, just as Max seemed to finally take a gasp of air. The silence was deafening, and the sound of his own harsh and shuddering breath did nothing to soften the blow of it against his ears. Will pulled his sheets up to his chin hurriedly, but found little solace there.  
  
For a few moments, while he left his family and home suspended motionless in time, all he did was try to breathe as his mind reeled. It took some time before he was able to bring himself to leave the safety of his sheets.  
  
Swallowing hard, he slipped out of bed to prowl the corners of the room, straining to feel any crack or lowering of defenses. His wards felt ever the same as they had, before. Had someone been invited into the house when he was unaware?  
  
Something was wrong, he was sure. Something had to have happened. He couldn’t fathom a world in which a brother of his would come upon him this way, in the night, without someone having tampered with him. Blinded him. Changed him.  
  
But, there was nothing.  
  
Sitting back down on his bed, Will crawled his way up to the head of it and pulled his knees up to his chest, pensive. His wards were secure, as far as he could feel. Max had not been strange before this uncharacteristic nighttime visit.  
  
Yes, strange was the kindest way to describe what had happened.  
  
Will Stanton physically flinched as he finally began to understand the truth of what his brother had attempted to do.  
  
Max’s choice had been taken by no one. This wasn’t influenced. This wasn’t planned by any forces trying to weaken him for the confrontation he knew would be coming in the future. This wasn’t anything beyond his brother’s control.  
  
This was his brother and all of his actions had been of his own free will, hadn’t it?  
  
For the first time in a very long time, Will felt very small. As he was accustomed to by now, he also felt very alone. He felt warm tears well up in the corners of his eyes as he thought over Max’s behavior, and he threw his legs over the side of the bed opposite of where Max sat, confined in Time until Will saw fit to release him. He tried to fix his pajama shirt, but found he was missing two buttons from the struggle, and that about did it.  
  
He hadn’t had a reason fit to cry, in his opinion, in quite some time. But he was unsure if he’d be able to hold it all back, this time. His face buried in his trembling hands, he tried to breathe as he leaned over his lap. He felt his heart beat in his ears and the tears came warm and wet against his fingers. Despite the fact he knew no one could hear him, Will found it hard to allow himself to cry openly.  
  
Man could be sickening. Man could be petty.  
  
His family, for all their virtues and compassion, were still of man.  
  
Despite all his knowledge of eternity, this was not a trial Will ever expected to face. He had thought his innocence and any vestige of a childhood had long since been abandoned, but this was an altogether new hurt. The loss of that security burned in his throat and tore at his chest and he found himself thinking of Bran and the Drew children. He was unsure if that was because he would seek comfort from them, or that he would wilt in shame before them.  
  
Let alone, he thought with a cold dread in his heart, that his weakness in this may disappoint Merriman, most of all.  
  
Finally, after Will’s quiet and strangled sobbing had begun to make his throat hoarse, he stood from the mattress and dried his face. He let out one last shaky exhale as he outstretched five fingers in the direction of his brother.  
  
Slowly, the expected noises of a quiet house returned, accompanied by Max catching his breath for a few moments before he groaned, slowly sitting up. Will, possibly without meaning to, began to judge the distance between himself and where his brother had climbed to his feet, an uncertain emotion on his face.  
  
“Max,” said Will, in a voice that he had meant to be commanding; it was, but to his own ears it sounded small.  
  
His older brother stopped, eyes now half-lidded, by his bed. If any expression existed on his face at all, it was one of mild confusion. Will, keeping the bed between them, offered a tired smile to his, now pliable, brother.  
  
“Thank you for checking on me,” he said, slowly and pointedly, and Max’s eyes began to refocus.  
  
“Checking on you?”  
  
Will kept his tired smile steady, despite a screaming feeling of upset building in his chest again, “It was just a nightmare I—we—had. You can go back to bed.”  
  
It wasn’t until the handle of his attic door was turning did Will even realize someone was coming up the stairs. Relief was laced with dread as he feared who would be at his door, again, this late at night.  
  
“Will, are you alright?” came a quiet voice once the door had creaked open, and the slim form of Paul came into view, adjusting his glasses to better see the forms standing in the darkness of the attic. “That wasn’t you yelling out like that, was it?”  
  
Will had forgotten that he’d yelled, and he crossed his arms over himself self-consciously, “I had a nightmare, I think.”  
  
Paul was peering at Will very carefully, “About Max?”  
  
If it were possible in the darkness of the room, Paul and Will Stanton would have seen the color drain from Max’s face, for reasons Max himself would not and could not remember.  
  
Will cursed himself silently, but his expression of sheepish insecurity remained unchanged, feigning the shame of a young boy feeling too old to be having nightmares. His eyes trained on the floor, not looking at either brother, he continued, “Max scared me, waking me up, is all. I think—”  
  
“Max, how about you go back down to bed, hey?” Paul interrupted, his deep voice stiff and unwavering.  
  
Will raised his eyes to find Paul’s normally soft features solid with a dark emotion, eyes fixated upon the oldest brother in the room with what, if Will didn’t assume better, was a silent fury.  
  
“Yeah,” Max muttered, scratching his neck, “Needed to. . .” the rest was unintelligible as he seemed to shamble out of the attic and down the stairs, still drunk on enchantment.  
  
Will watched him as he left, and stared at the doorway he’d left through until Paul crossed the small attic to him, his hand raising to touch his shoulder. Paul’s face creased momentarily with concern and hurt when Will immediately shied away.  
  
“A nightmare, then?” Paul asked, recovering quickly.  
  
“Yeah,” came Will’s sullen reply.  
  
Again, Paul tried to touch Will’s shoulder and Will allowed it. They stood there like that before Will took the few steps between them to bury his face into Paul’s chest, and he felt his older brother’s arms gently fall around his shoulders to hold him in what felt like an entirely safe embrace.  
  
“If you are having trouble up here, you can always come back down to our room again.” Paul said, and Will could feel the soft rumble in his chest as he spoke, “I know it has been a while since you’ve needed it, but I won’t tease you. I’m used to Robin in there anyway. Far too quiet, him away.”  
  
The youngest Stanton child turned his face to the side to rest more comfortably against his brother’s chest, “It’s just cold up here.”  
  
“Mm-hm.” Paul responded, patting Will’s hair comfortingly.  
  
Will fought back the urge to cry, once more, but was unable to keep his shoulders from momentarily tensing. He pulled back and gave his brother a sleepy, weak smile, “What time is it?”  
  
“Way too late.” Paul said, with a fond smile, as they made their way down the dark stairs.  
  
They were in front of the door to the twin’s room, oddly silent without Robin’s usual snore, when Paul finally turned to Will in the dark, leaning down to softly speak to him one last time for the evening, “You’d. . . tell me if something were really going on, right?”  
  
Will’s mind lept directly to his service of the Light, but he allowed himself to think before he responded. His stomach turned, and with despair he realized that Paul might have some idea of what had gone on. And whether he had heard more echo through the quiet house than Will had thought, or whether this was just who Max was, Will didn’t feel he wanted to know.  
  
“What? Yes,” the youngest and last of the Old Ones lovingly lied to his brother, “Of course.”  
  
But when Paul didn’t respond immediately, Will wasn’t entirely sure if he was believed and instead of waiting for the conversation to continue he retreated through the bedroom door, cheerfully bidding his brother goodnight. Instead of following him, however, Will was surprised to hear Paul’s soft footfalls retreating from the door. It was some time later that he finally came to silently slip into the room to go to bed.  
  
Will’s heart hurt and he tried to sleep that night, but it never came.


End file.
